As we left on a walk for the beach, we saw the empty milk jug. The white surface of the milk-stand deliciously worn away in places, revealing a vibrant red lacquer. The beach was round stones at the bottom of a steep hill. Family legend tells me that once one could find amber among the stones, washed from Norway's cliffs.
The weather was damp, and the beach cold. Our first full day in England after almost 28 hours journey from our home, it felt good to walk. Tired and jetlaged, it was glorious to be alive.
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